Musical Revenge Remix
by Quicksylverbtgh
Summary: I wish I could blame this on the Cuervo.  The aftermath of an episode of "When Meme Mutants Attack!"
1. Musical Revenge Remix

The Musical Revenge Remix

"Now (It's Just the Gas)" _Little Shop of Horrors_ and "My Girlfriend Who Lives in Canada" _Avenue Q_

A/N: This started as an attempt to do the 10 songs meme. Somewhere along the way the songs started pairing up in weird and sometimes random permutations (see the above song pairing). I never could follow rules very well.

Karofsky swore as he stumbled again. Without a hat, mittens or boots, and only his cheaply lined letterman's jacket, the bitter February wind was cutting to the bone. He looked back towards where his truck had gone off into the ditch. It had sunk in the drift up to the carriage. It was going to take a tow truck to pull it out. "Or you know, Spring," Karofsky snarled. He curled his shoulders harder, trying to move his collar so that it covered his ears.

Spring was probably when anyone would even come looking for him. He blamed it all on Puck. If he hadn't been bragging in the locker room again about his tail count, Karofsky wouldn't have had to roll out the fake Canadian girlfriend. He wouldn't have had to brag about how he was going to see her this weekend. He wouldn't have been on the road to his family's cabin where he could hide out for the weekend and not blow his cover. Fuck Puck and fuck Kurt, for that matter. If he hadn't turned him queer in the first place, Dave could have knocked up his own cheerleader already. Karofsky kicked a snow bank in retaliation and then swore when his frozen toes cracked against the inside of his shoes.

A sweep of headlights up ahead perked Karofsky up. He stuck a bluish thumb out. "Come on, come on." The SUV even looked familiar, although it was hard to tell at this distance. As it got closer, he realized where he knew the car from. It was Kurt's car.

Dave dropped his thumb. He was going to die out here.

His jaw dropped when he saw the SUV pull over to the side of the road. The overhead light came on and a figure seemed to be looking back at him. Dave broke out into a slow, slipping run. It took him a few minutes to reach the passenger side door. "Thank you so much man," he grinned. Leave it to Kurt to be the bigger man. He pulled on the door handle, but his frozen hand couldn't quite manage it. He tried again. It wasn't working. He knocked his knuckles on the glass. "Little help?"

Wide eyes met his. Kurt had his cell phone up to his ear and seemed surprised to see him there. "Help?" he seemed to echo back to Dave. Any color in the other boy's face drained. One of those carefully manicured hands jerked down to the lock and clicked it over. His other jerked the gear shift into drive. Dave had to jump back to avoid being run over as the car peeled away.

"Damnit," Karofsky swore. The little queen was going to leave him out here to freeze? Who did that? "Can't you take a joke?" he shouted after the retreating headlights.

Screw this, he decided. He needed to get inside somewhere before he froze to death. He started moving back to his truck. At least he had a blanket in the back. He could clear the snow away from the tailpipe, turn on the engine for a while, then try again after he had warmed up.

He had made it back to the truck when he noticed there was already someone there. The guy was so thoroughly wrapped up that all Karofsky could see from this distance was a nose. What really caught his attention was the tow-truck he was hooking up to Dave's truck.

"Hey kid," he heard a gruff voice welcome him over. "If you give me a hand, we'll get you back on the road asap."

Dave kinda wanted to hug the man. He settled for shaking his hand despite the way his icicle-filled fingers protested. "Thank you so much. You're a lifesaver."

The man waved him off, handing him a stout chain to attach to his back bumper. When Dave made his way back, the man handed him a spare pair of gloves. "My son makes sure I pack extra." Together they were able to wrench Dave's truck back on the road. Dave made to jump in the truck and the other man stopped him. "Let me check under the hood before you go anywhere. Make sure the snow didn't damage anything."

Dave popped the hood for him and started the engine. His baby started right up. He petted the rapidly warming dash with affection.

The other man dropped the hood and came around to the driver's side. Dave tugged off the loaned gloves and climbed out of the truck to tell him thank you once more. "What do I owe you?"

"Nothin'" the man told him.

"Seriously, I would have been a popsicle if you hadn't stopped." Dave pulled out his wallet. There was a grand total of thirty dollars in it. He offered it all to the stranger.

"Keep your money, kid. Any person with a conscience would have done the same." He tucked the gloves into one of the many pockets in his coverall.

"Not everybody," Karofsky muttered, thinking of disappearing taillights and Bambi eyes.

"Yeah, well, I wasn't including you in that."

"Sorry?"

"I know who you are," a hard finger hit him in the chest. "I don't think you realize who I am yet. Although as often as you sorry excuses for humans call my house, you should recognize my voice."

"What is your problem, man?" Karofsky realized he was backed up against the door of his truck, cornered by some crazy trucker with a crowbar in his hand.

"You know, when he called me, I really wanted to leave you out here to freeze. I was real tempted. Would have saved me a hellavalot in tuition fees, let me tell you. I could also see my son more often than once a month. Thank you the hell for that," the finger was punctuating every word now. "Tell me what gives you the right to drive my son away from the only family he has left? From his friends?" The man threw a punch that landed dangerously close to Dave's ear. He heard the glass of the driver's side window crack. "I'd offer to pay for that, but the way I figure it, you lot owe me about three bay windows. Guess it's two now."

Dave closed his eyes, trying to swallow past his dry throat. "I don't even know you," he managed to whisper.

A hand was shoved in his face. Numbly, Dave shook it in a mockery of an introduction. "Burt Hummel of Hummel Tire and Lube. My son Kurt is the kid you threatened to kill."

Dave knew that if he could, he would be peeing his pants right now. "I didn't mean it," he tried to argue.

"Yeah, you did," Mr. Hummel countered. He backed a step away. "Just like I'm going to trust you now to mean it when you promise to never ever lay a hand on Kurt again. Or Finn, for that matter."

"I promise," Dave managed to stutter out.

"Good." Mr. Hummel motioned for him to get back in his truck. "Get home. I'm sure your parents are worried."

Karofsky nodded furiously. "They're expecting me for dinner at five," he lied. "If you kill me, people will come looking for me," is what he really wanted to say, even if it was a bit of a lie.

Mr. Hummel chuckled lowly, as if he could tell Karofsky was lying to him. "Drive safe." And then Mr. Hummel was gone, climbing into his truck and pulling away. Dave managed to climb into his own vehicle, but had to sit for a few moments before his hands would stop shaking. That had been close.

He was a block away from his house when a realization hit him. That psycho was a mechanic. That psycho had been under his hood. Karofsky yanked the truck into the driveway as quickly as he could, half-convinced the man had rigged the engine to explode. Maybe he could con his dad into trading in the truck for a different car, Dave considered. There was no way in hell he was getting back into that death trap if he could help it.


	2. Mr Anderson's Miraculous Miracle Cure

Mr. Anderson's Miraculous Cure-all Libation

"Run and Tell That" _Hairspray and "_I Feel Fine" The Beatles

_**Future fic, college-era _

"It was really nice," Blaine could hear Kurt tell Mercedes. The best friends were talking via Skype, although Blaine would have to talk to Kurt about over-sharing details. Last night had been something special between the two of them. He wasn't sure he wanted Mercedes knowing the intimate details. Of course, he was also eavesdropping, so the moral high ground was rapidly disappearing.

"So, dish. Was it totally hot or kinda weird, like you thought it was going to be?" Blaine recoiled. "Weird?' he whispered. He ran a hand over his hair in reflex.

"No, no, it wasn't like that one clip."

"Thank god," Mercedes laughed. "I mean, really, what do you do with something that size?"

"Go into porn?" Kurt shot back and they both cracked up. Blaine could feel his cheeks heat up. If Kurt had been doing research, then what they had done last night must have seemed so vanilla. Kurt was going to think he was a complete square.

"Blaine was a gentleman." There was a pause and a familiar rustle. Blaine could imagine Kurt fluttering his hands to replace words that refused to come to mind. "He was really sweet."

"Blah, blah, blah, Blaine is Superman. Blaine is a rocket scientist. Blaine's smile cures cancer. I need actual details if I'm going to live vicariously through you," Mercedes growled.

"Mercedes," was Kurt's soft admonishment. "It'll happen for you."

"Some day Shemar Moore will realize I am the love of his life," she agreed. "Until then, I need details." Blaine really needed to interrupt this conversation before his blush became permanent.

"Let's just say," Kurt drawled. "Having similar equipment has its advantages. He does this one thing with his hand when he…"

Blaine burst out of hiding. "Kurt," he barely stopped himself from shouting. He took a second to straighten his shirt. "You ready to head down to the dining hall?" He absolutely refused to look at Mercedes.

"I've got to go, Cedes," Kurt waved. Blaine gave a short wave as well. Mercedes smirked at him when he dared make eye contact.

"Have a good night," she winked.

Blaine grabbed Kurt's coat off of the hook and held it out for Kurt to slip into. "What were you guys talking about?"

"A new cure for cancer," Kurt told him with a completely straight face.

"Wow, that's pretty cool," Blaine played along as they walked to the elevator. "You'd think something like that would have been big news."

"I guess they're keeping it under wraps for now. Corporate espionage and all that," Kurt's hands were waving in the breeze again. Blaine hit the down button. An answering ping heralded the opening doors. Blaine was in luck; the car was empty. Blaine wouldn't have an audience for what was quickly becoming the most awkward conversation of his adult life. He must have been slow to move forward because Kurt grabbed him by his lapels and yanked him into the waiting car. Blaine landed heavily along the long length of Kurt's body. "Wouldn't want people trying to steal this wonderful thing that they have discovered," was whispered against his lips.

"Are we still talking about cancer?"

Kurt laughed in delight before sealing their lips together. Thankfully, the doors chose that moment to close, allowing his boyfriend to grope him in private.


	3. I Hung On

I Hung On

"Lines of My Earth" Sixpence None the Richer, "You Don't Have to Believe Me" Eric Hutchinson, and title from Heather Nova's "Maybe an Angel" (the original line is "And when you said that you were dead, I hung on.")

When Sam looked up and smiled that wide, dopey grin of his, Quinn had to blush and turn away. It was weird for her to be the object of so much honest affection. Glancing around the room, she caught Mercedes' eye. The other girl fluttered her eyelashes in mockery. Quinn spared a quick look around; everyone else was pretending to listen to whatever crackpot musical theory Mr. Schue was spouting. She quickly flipped Mercedes off. She surprised the girl so much that Mercedes actually burst out laughing.

"Exactly," Mr. Schue beamed. "You see guys, Mercedes gets it."

"Mr. Schue," Rachael jumped in. Quinn wasn't sure what her point was, but it seemed to involve an unnecessary number of emphatic hand gestures. With the spotlight safely elsewhere, she dared a peek at Mercedes. She received a glare in return. Quinn just smiled and blew her a kiss. Mercedes smiled her brightest, and shrugged. Quinn knew 'Cedes would get her next time. Deciding to appease the vengeful spirits before they could lash out in retaliation, she slipped her phone out of her bag and typed out a quick message. "Starbucks after school?"

"Hell to the yes," was the quick reply.

She showed Sam the exchange. "Do you mind?" she whispered.

"You're still coming over tomorrow, right?"

"Wouldn't miss it."

He slipped an arm over her shoulders and squeezed her in closer. "Then don't sweat it." He glanced over at the other girl. "You should see if she wants to come to that party Friday too."

She reached an arm around his waist and gave him a squeeze of her own. "You just want to show up with two girls on your arm," she teased instead of saying what she really wanted to say.

"I am going to be the biggest g-pimp Lima has ever seen," he teased back while trying to throw his chin up in his best wanna-be gangsta' impression. More than anything, Quinn thought, he resembled Artie, drunk.

"Thank you, Sam."

"For what?"

"Because every time I worry that you are too perfect," she focused her eyes down to lull him into a false sense of security. "You go and open your mouth again." She glanced up at him through her eyelashes. Sam's jaw dropped. Then he went straight for her ticklish sides. She managed to fend him off until Mr. Schue called them all down to the floor to practice choreography. Sam still managed to goose her on the way down the risers.

"I am not that kind of girl," she flounced, shifting her hips so that her Cheerios' skirt spun open and upwards. She counted quietly to herself, "One, two, three…four?" She had to purse her lips to hide her smile. Somebody was looking, she congratulated herself.

"Maybe I'm that kind of guy," Sam finally countered. Rather lamely, Quinn decided.

"Maybe you both need to focus," Rachel turned around and hissed. "We need something more polished than your lackluster dance moves if we are going to beat Vocal Adrenaline at Regionals."

This time, when Quinn started counting under her breath again, it was for an entirely different reason.

Quinn looked back out through the store front at her best friend. Mercedes was nodding along with whomever was on the other end. She turned back when she heard the barista call next. "A small Earl Grey tea, a brownie, and," she glanced back over her shoulder, but Mercedes was still on the phone. "An iced latte, please." Mercedes could order whatever food she wanted.

The door chime rang as Quinn was setting the orders out on their usual table.

"Thanks Quinn," Mercedes sighed as she maneuvered around Quinn and into the opposite seat.

"Not hungry?" Quinn eyed the open space in front of Mercedes.

"Not really." She watched as Mercedes took the smallest of sips and then set her drink aside.

"Gerald's test results came back."

Mercedes started, then smiled. "Yeah. About what we expected. Another victim of the Jones' curse."

"At least it's manageable, right?" Quinn thought about her mother's family history of breast cancer and Tay-Sachs and tiny pink hands with pearl-colored nails.

"Sure," Mercedes laughed. "On second thought, maybe I better load up while I can. Lord knows, I'm going to be in the same boat in thirty years."

Quinn laid a hand over Mercedes' to keep her sitting down. "Just because you have a family history of diabetes doesn't mean you will automatically get it too."

"Everyone, EVERYONE, in my dad's family has Type II by the time they hit fifty." She shrugged off Quinn's hand and stood up. "Do you want anything?"

"I'm fine," was Quinn's stand-by answer, but she could feel the tightness in her shoulders. She wondered if Mercedes had always felt like this or if this was something new, a symptom of the upheaval of the post-"Beautiful" intervention era. Whatever this was, she was putting a stop to it.

She considered her options for back-up. Kurt, Mercedes' first Glee friend, was out. Their relationship was rocky at best right now. Not to mention, Kurt didn't have the healthiest view of food and nutrition. Sam was out for similar reasons. Slap a Cheerios' uniform on that boy and she would swear he was a Sue disciple. A sharp pain reminded her that she needed to stop biting her lip. Tina? Artie? Both were pretty body conscious people and weren't afraid to voice their appreciation. Who else was there? Mercedes might like the rest of the club, but she didn't really listen to them. That left Quinn on her own then.

She could do this, she decided. She was sure she still had the post-baby nutrition plan that her doctor had given her. Quinn had also been reading her way through the library's wealth of nutritional guides. She would have to make some adjustments for differences in weight and height and daily needs. Maybe her doctor would help her out a little. She let her plans percolate in the back of her head as she turned to face Mercedes' return. Tomorrow, she would launch "Operation: Health Nut". Mercedes and Sam wouldn't know what hit them. And if they tried to wiggle out of it, well, Quinn wasn't the HBIC for nothing. She smiled brightly. Tomorrow, she promised them. Tomorrow, I'll get to return the favor.


	4. Clark Kent Does His Own Stunts, Live!

Clark Kent Does His Own Stunts, Live!

"Emaline" by Ben Folds Five, "The Lightning Storm" by Flogging Molly

A/N: This story grew out of a desire to have some Blaine-Finn bonding. I also wanted to deal at least a little more seriously with some issues that the Glee writers have, up to this point, mainly played off as running gags.

Blaine, Finn had decided, needed self-defense lessons. If he was going to take on some of the responsibilities of protecting Kurt, he was going to need to know how to kick some ass. And let's face it, Finn laughed, the kid already had two strikes against him. One was Kurt's mouth; the other was the fact that Finn was twice his size. Seriously, like the guy would have to stand on somebody's shoulders to punch him in the face. That was why he had recruited the most badass people he knew to teach Blaine the basics.

Finn and Burt had already set up the backyard with a tackling dummy and a set of gym mats. At the picnic table, Santana sat drumming her nails and Puck flexed as some kind of weird warm-up. Kurt was bringing the guest of honor.

"You sure about this, kid?" Burt questioned him again.

"It's totally cool," Finn assured. "It's like a welcome to the family thing."

Burt swiped his hat off of his head, rubbing an embroidered handkerchief over his bald spot. "Did you at least run this by Kurt?"

"Yeah," Finn nodded his head so hard he got a little dizzy. He didn't add that Kurt maybe hadn't gotten the point because he seemed way too eager to get sweaty and dirty. The sound of the sliding glass door opening ended the conversation.

"Finn?" Kurt's voice rang out. The pair was standing in the doorway, looking at the yard in apprehension. Neither one had workout clothes on. "I thought you were planning a welcome party."

"My mom even made pie," Blaine held it up as evidence. His black eye had faded a bit, so that only streaks of yellow and green stretched out towards his temple.

"Kinda?" Finn swore quietly under his breath. "I…"

Santana saved him. "You got your ass kicked last weekend. We're," she pointed to herself and Puck, "going to show you how to fight so you can actually protect your boy Kurt." Maybe saved wasn't quite the word.

Kurt spluttered, partly in Blaine's defense and partly to insist, yet again, that they weren't going out. Blaine himself was oddly silent. He reached a hand up to touch the edge of his eye, then nodded to himself. Blaine handed the pie to Burt before turning back to Kurt. "Can I borrow some clothes?" That seemed to settle the matter.

When they returned, both were wearing wind pants and t-shirts. "Kurt, you don't have to do this if you don't want to," Finn tried to assure him.

"Why? You don't think I want to be able to defend Blaine? Or is it because I'm supposed to be the girl in this 'relationship'?" Kurt, who swore up and down that air quotes were the last refuge of the socially inept, must have been pissed to break them out now.

Puck pushed him out of the way. "Put the wand away, princess. You can play too."

Blaine actually got in Puck's face. "Don't call him that."

Puck clapped him on the back. "Not bad, but you're still about as intimidating as a teddy bear." Puck moved behind Blaine. He pulled the boy's shoulders until they were squared and his back was straight. Next, he kicked out Blaine's feet until they were even with his shoulders. "Stick your chin out," he told Blaine.

When he had Blaine positioned how he wanted him, he walked back around to the front. "Now, tell me again what I need to do."

"Stop calling him that," Blaine tried to growl, pushing Puck in the chest.

Santana and Puck both laughed. "Scary, dude. You sound all of five."

Blaine stayed silent. Finn kinda had to respect him for that.

"Your first mistake was getting in my face. I'm bigger than you. I know I'm bigger than you and getting in my face just reminds me of that fact. Get back in position."

Blaine tried to stand the way Puck had shown him. Puck made a few minor corrections then told Blaine to close his eyes. "Picture the most badass person you know and then order me to do something."

"Go take a flying leap," Blaine tried again.

"Still not badass enough," Puck taunted.

"Suck donkey balls," Blaine spit out.

"Creative, but still not it."

Blaine threw his hands up in the air. "What am I doing wrong?"

"You're not feeling your bad attitude."

"That makes no sense."

Finn listened to the exchange and felt his hands start to dampen. If Blaine couldn't master this, the rest of the afternoon would be a wash. Then a light bulb of a plan blew up in Finn's mind. It was just like that time Mr. Shue had made him sing "Hello". Blaine was a glee kid. He probably broke out in song while combing his hair. He just needed the perfect badass song. He pulled Kurt aside and explained the plan to him. The other boy ran into the house and grabbed his Iphone and boombox.

Together, they flipped through songs until Kurt found the perfect one. He put the volume on low and watched the music take affect. It took several minutes but Finn noticed immediately when Blaine relaxed into his stance and his jaw firmed. His eyebrows stopped that funny dance they were wont to do and for once, there was no hint of a smile around his mouth.

Puck noticed too. "You think you're tough enough to tell me what to do?" he goaded.

"Yes," was Blaine's terse reply.

"I think he's ready," Puck smiled.

The rest of the afternoon was spent building on that new sense of badassness, a soundtrack of fight songs playing in the background. Burt taught Blaine how to throw a punch without breaking his fingers and how to knock out a guy with a glass jaw. Puck and Finn showed him where to tackle someone bigger than him and how to flip a guy by dropping his shoulder.

"With any luck, the guy will be so winded you can make a run for it before he gets back up," Finn told him.

Santana, however, was the revelation that afternoon. She broke through Blaine's sense of honor and got him to fight dirty. "Unless you start beating up girls, you are probably always going to be smaller than the guy coming after you. He has all of the advantages, so don't let him catch you and don't let him corner you. And don't worry about a fair fight. You already know it isn't one." She taught him how to throw an opponent and how to kick them when they were down. "Gives you more time to get away," she assured him. She told him to never go for the balls first because guys always expected that. "Go for the eyes," she suggested. "That really freaks them out."

She and Puck even showed him a couple of ways to escape if he was trapped on the ground. "The main thing is to protect the important stuff, i.e. not your balls," Puck told him. He tapped Blaine on the head. "Somebody hits you here, you're done." He tapped Blaine in the chest. "Somebody hits you here, you can't breathe and you can't run. Protecting those is the priority." He swung a left at Blaine's face and Blaine instinctively raised his arm to protect himself. He followed up with a swipe at Puck's eyes and then a knee to the groin when Puck flinched out of reach of his nails. The taller boy dropped to the ground gasping.

"You sure about the balls part?" Santana laughed in delight before deigning to help her boy up.

Finn ended the session there. That was good enough for an afternoon. He watched as the others headed inside with Blaine's pie, but stayed behind to help Burt clean up. He needed a minute to think some things through.

"Thanks for doing this son."

"I didn't really do much."

"You got Santana and Puck over here."

"Yeah, I guess." He and Burt worked in silence for several minutes. "I just wish…" Finn shook his head and let it drop.

Burt didn't. "Wished what?"

Finn tried to smile but he could tell it wasn't coming out right. He thought about Santana's preferences for Brittany, and how she and the Cherrios had blacklisted three jocks last year. He thought about Puck's step-dad and his fight club and the time Finn had promised to stand back to back with Puck against the world. He thought about the brand new steel-toed shoes in Kurt's closet and the well-oiled shotgun in Burt's. "I just sorta wish I didn't have friends who knew that kinda stuff."

"What doesn't kill us, right?" Burt gave him a one-armed hug, then shoved him towards the door. "I've got this. Why don't you grab some food before it disappears."

Finn flashed him a real smile this time and followed the laughter into the house.


End file.
